“I don’t believe it.”
“In India,” Sharpe said, “some natives believe it very healthy to drink their own urine.”
Forrest looked owlishly at him. “That cannot be true.”
Leroy intervened. “Perfectly true, Major, I’ve seen them do it. A cupful a day. Cheers!”
Everyone round the table protested but Sharpe and Leroy stuck to their story. The conversation stayed with India, of battles and sieges, of strange animals, of the palaces that contained unimaginable wealth. More wine was ordered and food brought from the kitchens, not the pork that smelt so tantalisingly from the lines but a stew that seemed to consist mainly of vegetables. It still felt good to be sitting there. Sharpe stretched his legs under the table and leaned back against the cypress trunk letting the tiredness of the day flow through him. Over the sound of talk and laughter he could hear the thousands of insects that chattered and clicked through the Spanish night. Later he would walk over the stream and visit his company, and he let his thoughts wander, not too many miles away, to where he knew a group of French officers would be sitting just like this and where their men would be cooking on fires like the ones across the stream. And somewhere, perhaps propped in the corner of a room in an inn just like this one, would be the Eagle. A hand hit him on the back.
“So they’ve made you a Captain! This army has no standards!” It was Hogan. Sharpe had not seen him since the day they marched back from the bridge. He stood up and took the Engineer’s hand. Hogan beamed at him. “I’m delighted! Shocked, of course, but delighted. Congratulations!”
Sharpe blushed and shrugged. “Where have you been?”
“Oh, looking at things.” Sharpe knew that Hogan had been reconnoitring for Wellesley, coming back with news of which bridges could take the weight of heavy artillery, which roads were wide enough for the army to use. The Captain had obviously been forward to Oropesa and perhaps beyond. Forrest invited him to sit and asked for news.
“The French are up the valley. A lot of them.” Hogan poured himself some wine. “I reckon there’ll be a battle within a week.”
“A week!” Forrest sounded surprised.
“Aye, Major. They’re swarming all over a place called Talavera.” Hogan pronounced it ‘Tally-verra’, making it sound like some Irish hamlet. “But once you join with Cuesta’s army you’ll far outnumber them.”
“You’ve seen Cuesta’s troops?” Sharpe asked.
“Aye.” The Irishman grinned. “They’re no better than the Santa Maria. The cavalry may be better, but the infantry… „Hogan left the sentence unfinished. He turned back to Sharpe and beamed again. ”The last time I saw you, you were under arrest! Now look at you. How’s good Sir Henry?“ There was a laugh round the table. Hogan did not wait for an answer but dropped his voice. ”I saw Sir Arthur.“
“I know. Thank you.”
“For telling the truth? So what happens now?“
”I don’t know.“ Sharpe spoke quietly. Only Hogan could hear him. ”Simmerson has written home. I’m told that he has the power to stop the Horse Guards ratifying the gazette, so in six weeks I’ll be a Lieutenant again, probably for ever, and almost certainly transferred to the Fever Islands, or out of the army altogether.“ Hogan looked intently at him.
”You’re serious?“
“Yes. One of Sir Arthur’s staff virtually told me as much.”Because of Simmerson?“ Hogan frowned in disbelief. Sharpe sighed. ”It has to do with Simmerson keeping his credibility in Parliament with the people who oppose Wellesley. I’m the sacrifice. Don’t ask me, it’s way over my head. What about you? You were under arrest too.“
Hogan shrugged. “Sir Henry forgave me. He doesn’t take me seriously, I’m just an Engineer. No, it’s you he’s after. You’re an upstart, a Rifleman, you’re not a Gentleman but you’re a better soldier than he’ll ever be, so.” He squeezed his thumb and forefinger together. “He wants rid of you. Listen.” Hogan leaned even nearer. “There’ll be a battle soon, has to be. The idiot will probably make as big a mess as he did before. They can’t protect him for ever. It’s a terrible thing, God knows, but you should pray he makes as big a mistake again.”
Sharpe smiled. “I doubt if we need to pray.” From one of the upper windows that looked onto the balconies that ran round the courtyard there came a woman’s scream, terrifying and intense, stopping all conversation beneath the trees. Men froze with their cups half lifted to their mouths and stared at the dark doorways that led to the bedrooms. Sharpe got to his feet and reached instinctively for his rifle. Forrest put a hand on his arm. “It’s not our business, Sharpe.”
In the courtyard there was a moment’s silence, some nervous laughter, and then the conversation started again.
Sharpe felt uneasy. It could have been anything; one of the women who lived at the inn could be ill, possibly even a difficult childbirth, but he felt certain it was something else. A rape? He felt ashamed that he had done nothing. Forrest tugged at his arm again. “Sit down. It’s probably nothing.”
Before Sharpe could move there came another scream, this time a man’s, and it turned into a bellow of rage. A door burst open on the top floor spilling yellow candlelight onto the balcony, and a woman ran out of the room and darted towards the stairs. A voice shouted, “Stop her!”
The girl tore down the stairs as though the fiends of hell were after her. The officers in the courtyard cheered her on and shouted abuse at the two figures who emerged after her, Gibbons and Berry. They stood no chance of catching her; both men looked drunk, and as they burst from the room they lurched and blinked round the courtyard.
“It’s Josefina,” Forrest said. Sharpe watched the girl half run, half fall down the stairs until she reached the other side of the courtyard from their table. For a second she looked desperately round as though looking for help. She was carrying a bag, and Sharpe had a glimpse of what could have been a knife in her hand, and then she turned and ran into the darkness, over the stream, towards the lights of the Battalion’s fires. Gibbons stopped halfway down the stairs; he was dressed in trousers and shirt and one hand was clutching the unbuttoned shirt to his stomach; in the other hand was a pistol. “Come back, you lousy bitch!”
He jumped the last flight of steps and fumbled with the lock of his pistol.
“What’s the matter, Gibbons? Girl took your colours!” The voice came from one of the tables in the courtyard. Gibbons, his face furious, ignored the jibes and laughter and ran with Berry towards the stream.
“There’s going to be trouble.” Sharpe climbed from the bench. “I’m going.”
He threaded his way through the tables, Forrest and Hogan following him. He left the light of the courtyard and splashed through the stream; there was no sight of the girl or her pursuers, just the lights in the cork grove and the occasional silhouette of a man crossing in front of the flames. He paused to let his eyes become accustomed to the dark. Forrest caught up with him.
“Is there going to be trouble, Sharpe?”
“Not if I can help it, sir. But you saw him, he’s got a pistol.” There were shouts to the left, a commotion. “Come on!”
He outpaced the other two; he was running fast, keeping the silver track of the stream to his left, holding the rifle in his right hand.
“What’s going on? Who the hell’s that?” In the light of a fire he saw an angry private. The man looked surprised when he saw Sharpe and threw a hasty salute. “You after them two, sir?”
“Was a girl with them?”
“That way, sir.” He pointed downstream, away from the fires of the Battalion, out into the black grassland. Sharpe ran on, Forrest and Hogan now close behind. In front he heard a ‘view-halloo’, a scream, they had caught the girl. He ran faster, ignoring the rough ground, fearing the sound of a shot, his eyes adjusting to the night. They had not gone far. Suddenly he saw them, Berry standing with a bottle and watching Gibbons, who had forced the girl to her knees and was trying to force the bag out of her hands. Sharpe heard Gibbons shouting at Josefma. “Let go, you bitch!”
Sharpe kept running. Gibbons looked up, startled, and then Sharpe hit him full tilt. The Lieutenant was thrown backwards, the pistol flew from his hand and splashed into the stream, and Sharpe saw the bag fall from Josefina’s hand and spill bright gold onto the dark grass. Gibbons tried to struggle to his feet but Sharpe pushed him with the rifle butt. “Don’t move.” There was enough moonlight for the Lieutenant to see the look on Sharpe’s face, and he sank back onto his elbows. Sharpe turned to Berry. “What’s going on?”
Berry licked his fat lips and grinned foolishly. Sharpe stepped one pace closer and raised his voice. “What’s
